Something a little lighter

For the curious, this is what a Library technician does.

I've been accepted into the program.

'That vast moth-eaten musical brocade'

There is a special way of being afraid
No tricks dispel. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says 'No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel', not seeing
That this is what we fear - no sight, no sound
No touch to taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.

-Philip Larkin, Aubade

Today I finally introduced myself to the priest at the church that I go to. I've been going there for about three months now, but haven't yet officially joined. Last week I tried to join online, the page wasn't working, so it seems I had no choice but to finally walk up to him and introduce myself. I had to wait a few minutes, as he was busy listening to whatever the seedy looking guy in front of me was whispering into his ear. The gentleman in question was wearing a huge gray parka, a day's worth of growth, and less than the standard issue of teeth. I waited my turn.

The entire interview took less than five minutes. I introduced myself, explained that I had been coming to his church for a few months, and now wanted to officially join his parish. I explained that I tried joining online, but that the page wasn't loading. He listened with the slightly abstracted air of someone who had a great deal on his mind but was still trying to be attentive. He told me that I should phone the parish number available on the newsletter, and explain to that I had been trying to join but was having trouble with the page. Then taking another look at me, asked if I was studying or working. I told him working. He looked at me again, shook my hand, said it was a pleasure to meet me, and moved onto the next parishioner that needed his attention. I left the church feeling, despite all evidence to the contrary, that I had accomplished something.

I finally decided that I had to join this church a couple of weeks ago. It was about three weeks before Christmas, and one of the priests - I think he was a guest speaker from another church - read from the gospel of Luke. There had been other times coming here when I felt myself tearing up listening to the songs or something the priest was saying. However, I always managed to hold myself back. I would think:If you start crying in a church, in this church, then you've lost it. Do not lose it here. This would usually bring me around and I'd stay cool during the rest of the sermon. I'm not sure why this time was different, and if you asked me to explain what exactly provoked it I wouldn't be able to tell you. The passage that the priest read was from chapter three, verses 15-16:

A feeling of expectancy had grown among the people, who were beginning to wonder whether John might be the Christ, so John declared before them all, 'I baptise you with water, but some one is coming, who is more powerful than I, and I am not fit to undo the strap of his sandals; he will baptise you with the Holy Spirit and fire.

I lost it on "fire". Tears started to stream down my face. Something had cracked open.

Morbidly self-conscious as I am, I looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Sure enough, one guy at the pew opposite to me had. His expression was a partly concerned, mostly embarrassed What the fuck? When he noticed me looking at him, he quickly looked away, and pointedly stopped looking at me. I don't blame him. I would've done the same in his position.

I quoted from Larkin about religion because until very recently, that's how I used to feel about religion, and I'm sure that at least a few of you reading this - Hi Jen! - still feel that that's the proper attitude toward it. I have to admit, there is a great deal to admire abut that point of view. There's a bravery, or toughness about it that's hard not to think highly of. In fact, I do think highly of it. I just don't think it's right. Larkin's description of death, of non-being is terrifying. How could you not shudder at a line like 'Nothing to love or link with'? The only problem with it that I see, is that Larkin is overstating his case. I think in this instance he over plays his hand, because he's trying to get us to imagine what Non-Being would feel like. 'This is what we fear - no sight, no sound / No touch to taste or smell, nothing to think with'. The problem with this is that he is trying to get us to imagine what it would be like not to exist. The problem with that is that it is literally impossible. The mind cannot conceive of it.

I no longer believe what Larkin believed. I used to. There wasn't single argument that convinced me otherwise, nor was it a single incident that made me change my mind. If at this point you're looking for concrete argument, look elsewhere. it was a series of arguments and events that made me start to think otherwise. I doubt that arguments in favor of religion usually convince any one. I'm not saying that I don't still have certain reservations either. There are certain hot-button issues that I'm sure that someone a little more conservative in their faith might disagree with me on. That's neither here nor there though. I'm starting to learn that there can be disagreement over certain topics as long as we can agree on the broader issues. There are many mansions, after all.

I suppose I could make an attempt to explain why I do believe, but that would be another posting, or three to explain. I might attempt it. To put it as simply as I can, I just do. I can't help it. They could subdivide the Trinity into seventeen different parts and I still would. I can't do otherwise.

Draining my fangs

Everybody in my world knew that regular work was just another word for being robbed and dying of boredom.

-Sarah Waters, Fingersmith

Miss me?
There are two main reason that I haven't been writing lately. One has been Christmas, the other has been work. I've decided to embrace the entire concept of the blog as a place to vent some spleen, as I have precious little other places to do it.

Having read through the Gospels a couple of times, I haven't found a single reference to people having to buy anything or go into the black hole of credit card debt - I'm pretty sure that lending at interest is frowned at in the Bible, but that's another matter - let alone having to tolerate behavior to which the only sane response is at best a thunderous "fuck you" in order to celebrate Jesus' birthday. What really irritates me is the invoking of the necessity of staying calm and not over-reacting "because it's Christmas". Apparently Christmas is supposed to engender rational self-control, but good manners not so much. I'm not sure where this holiday went wrong, but I doubt that making me want to smash things with a claw hammer was quite what Jesus intended, if he did in fact intend us to celebrate his birth at all.

The other thing that's been getting me down is work. Now, for the sake of discretion, I can't actually name it, but we'll just call it Humanity's Complaint Department, or (HCD) for short. When, over a couple of beers, I was describing to a friend what actually happens at the HCD, he aptly pointed out that it sounded like all the worst parts of retail - with none of the benefits. For those of my readers who've worked with me at BeastCity, imagine - if you dare - a clientele that consisted solely of irritated Ken Finklemans and angry Bernards. With none of the in between customers who had a genuine love for the product, or simple hadn't been raised by wolves. In fact, there isn't even the respite of Ken Finkleman in mild mood or a sweet-tempered Bernard - who, to do him justice, was charming when he was in a good mood - because they're like that all the time.

What adds injury to insult is the written hyperbole. When every single letter you read is written in the colour of aggrieved self-righteousness, bemoaning the fact that the writer once believed that Canada was a country of Law, Order and Moral Virtue - that now that that veil has been brutally torn away from their eyes they will be forevermore living in a shattered back alley of broken dreams, giving unhappy defeated hand jobs to the cruel and powerful. The above is only a slight exaggeration of the type of rhetoric a great deal of our clients enjoy using. The spelling has been somewhat improved. Their opponents are little better, using the weaselly language of deceit, evasion and denial of moral responsibility so well that it makes this twenty-six year old slacker blush. After working at the Beast, I really though that my opinion of general humanity could not run any lower. Like all optimists are, I've been proven wrong. In short, I'm suffering from an extreme case of compassion fatigue.

Of course, because all good things come in threes, on top of irritation and moral dismay the other reaction my job provokes in me is boredom. A high degree of boredom. It is incredibly repetitive, dull and the only reason why they don't get a chimp or a computer to do it is because of the inertia that is natural to all bureaucracies and because it is wrong to hurt animals. Despite everything, I will go to my grave a happy man knowing that I made a difference in the life of some chimp somewhere.

So why not just leave? I am, of course. I recently received the wonderful news that S. College has approved me for entering their Library Technician program. The program starts in May, lasts a year and will at the end of it give me a job that is commonly reserved for grown ups. For those of you who are wondering what a library technician does, the simplest way I can explain it is that I will basically be a librarian. Basically.

Let me close be saying that everything is not as bad that I'm making it out to seem. I've got a lot of good friends who keep me sane, I've been introduced to the music of Shearwater and Okkervil River, and at least the job pays fairly well. Of course, there's also this:



Ride free little guy, ride free.